


Dead on Arrival

by orphan_account



Series: A Language In Itself [1]
Category: The Yogscast
Genre: Friendship, M/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-30
Updated: 2015-10-19
Packaged: 2018-04-06 22:17:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 3,808
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4238595
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ross has seen the other guy around, but never like this: sniffling pathetically outside of a Starbucks with coffee splashed all over his chucks. ~Tross Uni AU</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Ross

**Author's Note:**

> Trott’s sleep deprivation symptoms are based on my own. If you haven’t been awake for 48+ hours consecutively, I deeply do not suggest it.
> 
> Enjoy  
> 

Ross is minding his own business, oversized headphones covering his ears, eyes focused on the still-icy sidewalk as he trudges down to Starbucks. The music’s only playing quietly, rhythmic base soothing Ross’ tired mind as he struggles to rest from his exams.

Coffee became the thing. Or perhaps tea. He could sit down, enjoy a nice hot cuppa, away from his too-loud roommates and their own particular de-stressing methods.

However, today he sees something quite out of the ordinary. There’s a man standing directly outside the door to the coffee shop, staring down at the pavement. Ross has seen him around, but never like this: sniffling pathetically outside of a Starbucks with coffee splashed all over his chucks.

As Ross watches, he lifts a sleeve to his face as if to dry his eyes, and Ross instinctively pulls down his headphones.

“You alright, mate?” he asks.

The other’s head jerks up abruptly, eyes wide and bloodshot. “Y-yeah,” he says immediately, but his voice is shaky and his eyes are glittering with unshed tears.

“Um, are you sure?” Ross asks, stepping closer.

And the man bursts into tears.

“God! Uh, sorry!” Ross says frantically, half-jogging until he’s beside the other man. “Jesus, sit down!” He drops his hand on the other man’s shoulder and pushes him toward the seat at the patio table.

The man sinks into it, gratefully, and the sobs subside into gentle gasps of breath.

“Exams?” Ross murmurs, hand still resting gently on the other’s shoulder. He nods in response, and Ross continues softly, “My name’s Ross. Yours?”

The man inhales sharply, and spits out: “Chris.”

“Nice to meet you, Chris. I’ve seen you around, haven’t I?”

Another nod.

“You’re studying film?”

This time a mumble. “Mmhm.”

“I don’t really know if you should be drinking coffee at this stage, mate,” Ross confides in Chris. Chris lets out a helpless-sounding laugh and shrugs, staring morosely down at the table top.

“Look, I’ll walk you back to your dorm, all right? Have a sleep, mate, and get cracking once you’re able to sit up straight on your own, okay?”

Chris tilts his head but doesn’t reply. Ross kneels down beside him so he’s able to meet his eyes - pretty despite the fact that they’re bloodshot - and is surprised when he has to blink to force himself to concentrate. “Hey, it’s no good working yourself to death, mate. We’ve all gotta sleep sometime.”

Why is his voice so soft? No matter; it seems to have struck a chord with Chris, who nods reluctantly in response. “‘Kay, mate, where d’you live?”

“What?”

“I wasn’t joking. I’m walking you back there. Something tells me you’re a slippery one, and you better as hell be going to sleep!”

Chris smiles, then, though it sits strangely on his face. Too many teeth, and his eyes look confused rather than amused. Ross holds his hand out, and Chris stares at it, bewildered, before dropping his left hand into Ross’ grip.

He tugs the smaller man up, and it takes surprisingly little effort. That’s when Ross notices the way his wristbones stick out and his hands seem more than a little skeletal.

“Give me your phone, mate,” Ross says, and Chris complies, slowly.

He enters in his contact information quickly, efficiently, and gives Chris a stern look as he hands it back. “You’d better text me,” he says, and it may be his imagination or that may be an actual blush spreading across Chris’ cheeks.

“C’mon, lead the way,” he says, resting his hand on Chris’ forearm, and with a shy smile, Chris does.

And when he texts Ross the next morning at 11, Ross’ roommates laugh at the way he scrambles for the phone and types out a rapid response.

But he’s not going to let them make him feel embarrassed. Not when he knows Chris is on the other end, waiting.


	2. Trott

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is dedicated to Siera_Writes, who said she’d be willing to read more, which accidentally spawned this. Wellp. I hope you enjoy?  
> 

“Coffee?”

Trott looks up from his Mac to see Ross standing opposite him, holding out an extra cup of coffee. He can’t help the slight smile that graces his face, but he bites his lip, hoping that’ll disguise it.

“Thanks.”

Ross sets the coffee cup down by Trott’s arm and sinks into the seat opposite him. The student center is buzzing, but not overly loud. As Ross settles into the chair, Trott can hear a breathy sigh escape his lips. The kind of sigh that tugs at Trott, making him feel … wistful.

Ross tilts his chin toward Trott’s laptop. “Whatcha working on?”

“Freelance stuff,” Trott says, reaching out for the coffee reflexively. “Wedding footage. I just do the editing.”

“Cool. I always think about doing stuff like that, but it’s hard to find the time.”

“Yeah.”

Trott’s still wondering what he’s done to deserve this. There was Ross, friendly, affable, popular, and there was him. Why Ross had crossed that implied line, he wasn’t sure.

Pity? Probably.

“I remember that short you did in Ericson’s class - did you write that yourself?”

Trott recalls it. Over-the-top, cheesy. He’d gotten one of his old secondary school friends to star in it, and while he wasn’t an outright bad actor, he certainly wasn’t one of the best. “Er - yeah.”

The smile that spreads across Ross’ face is too big, too bright. “Really? That was hilarious! It was my favorite in that class. Well done, mate.”

“Thanks,” he says again, at a bit of a loss. Is he supposed to be doing something here? Ross is carrying this conversation by far. But what to say?

“I, um,” he starts, and Ross watches him with bright eyes. “Thanks. I mean, for the other day.”

Trott sees a tinge of pink on Ross’ cheeks, but he’s sure it’s his imagination. “Oh, no problem, mate. I mean, I couldn’t leave you there, could I?”

Trott smiles behind his coffee cup. “‘Spose not,” he murmurs.

He likes the way the blush sits on Ross’ cheeks.


	3. Ross

Ross still tastes last evening’s alcohol and regret in his throat as he stumbles into the Starbucks. He goes to reach for his wallet and realizes suddenly, with a shock, that it’s missing.

Shit. Now he remembers. He’d left it in the downstairs room underneath a pile of discarded pizza boxes. Well, no reason to worry it’d be gone; none of his roommates are the type to proactively throw the trash out, anyway.

“I’ve got it,” a familiar voice says.

Startled, Ross blinks and sees Trott standing in front of him, looking just about as groggy as Ross himself. Is … is that a stain on his flannel shirt? But he’s holding up his card and gesturing to Ross, so Ross quickly mutters, “Grande coffee, room for cream, one pump of sweetener, thanks.”

It’s a heavenly short time between the order and when they hand him his drink, steaming pleasantly. He finally manages to pull together a smile for Trott, who looks equally as dazed.

“Thanks, mate. You’re a lifesaver.”

“Wanna sit?” Trott mutters, gesturing to one of the tables.

“Sure,” Ross says, grateful.

“So, where were you last night?” Ross asks ruefully, burying his nose in the steam from his coffee.

Trott shrugs noncommittally, looking down at his drink. “Just, just around. You?”

Ross shrugs, leaning back in his chair. “Eh, my roommates decided to send out an open invitation. My flat is a war zone now, you should see it.” Trott’s eyes meet Ross’ uneasily, and he realizes what he’s said. Well … he meant it jokingly, but … He bites his lip, half-hoping Trott will ask to come over.

Trott opens his mouth, and Ross feels stupid, ridiculous butterflies in his gut: “So, did someone take your wallet?”

Ross berates himself for a half a moment before replying. “Nah, mate, just forgot it. Left it downstairs under a pile of trash.”

“Oh, that’s good, then..?”

“Yeah, no problem. I can pay you back -”

“Are you kidding me, mate? It’s just coffee.”

Ross smiles sheepishly, and shrugs. “Just don’t wanna inconvenience you.”

Trott sighs, and it sounds ticked to Ross’ untrained ear. “Just take it, all right mate? As a gift. Or whatever.”

“Well then thank you, Trott, this is the best gift I could’ve asked for.”

Trott raises his eyebrow in response.

“Came just at my time of need. My hero.” Ross raises his eyebrows and tries to meet Trott’s eyes. Maybe he’ll hear the implication he’s making, because honestly Ross is getting kind of tired of tiptoeing.

Or maybe he’ll staunchly refuse eye contact and act completely oblivious to Ross. That could work as well.

“It’s, uh, nice seeing you. How come we only ever run into each other?” Ross asks.

“What, do you wanna hang out?”

“Well are you free now?”

Trott bites his lip and leans back in his chair. “I’m, um, I’m busy. I mean I’ve got a thing in fifteen minutes.”

Ross tries not to feel rejected, but does so anyway. “Okay. Um, sorry. I mean, to, uh --”

“It’s okay,” Trott says. “I’m - I mean --”

Ross waits for Trott to finish the statement, but the shorter man looks down at his coffee and seems to get lost in the swirls of cream instead.

“Okay. I guess, I don’t want to keep you,” Ross says, half standing.

“No, you’re not! I mean, you’re not keeping me - I’ve got time.”

“No, it’s all right - I’ll um, see you later then?” Ross holds up his coffee, as if to toast Trott.

Trott’s facial expression is almost a frown, but he looks a little more bewildered. “Yeah, I mean, see you.”

Ross bites his lip again, nods quickly, and rushes back out of the coffee shop without looking back.


	4. Trott

His coffee is bitter, and cold, but he slugs a drink of it anyway.

He’s on the rooftop of the science building, staring up at the cloudy night sky. He can hardly see any stars at all, but he’s grateful; if it were a bright night, the rooftop would be crowded with excited students exclaiming at the beauty of the cosmos.

And that is something Trott really can’t bear to think about right now.

So he savours his cold coffee in silence, staring out at the empty skyline.

Then the _tmp tmp_ of heavy footfalls echoes up from the staircase, and Trott wraps his arms around his chest, resigning himself to the obnoxious chatter of unwanted company.

“Oh -- Trott? Is that you?”

Trott’s head whips around and there’s Ross, standing behind him, weight uneasily balanced on the balls of his feet. “Sorry, were you meeting someone?”

“No! No, I was just enjoying--” he gestures toward the empty expanse of sky, cutting himself off from saying something stupidly unfitting. “The stars” or “the moon”, perhaps, which are invisible behind the heavy clouds.

Ross gives him a halfhearted smile, and Trott does his best to smile back. It feels wrong, though, and he drops it, taking another drink from his cold coffee.

“Yeah, I just--” Ross says. He takes in a deep breath, and walks up next to Trott, who’s stood by the railing. “Just wanted. Hm. I’m not sure why I came up here, actually.”

They stand together in silence, Trott feeling his heart beats stronger than he ought, thrumming in his chest. He shuffles his hands around the cup, hoping to dispel some of his nervous energy.

Ross drops his arms onto the metal railing and sighs lightly. “My roommate,” Ross begins, “had a bad fight with his girlfriend. He’s getting drunk, sloppy drunk, and it’s exhausting.”

“Mmhm,” Trott murmurs. He fiddles with his cup again.

“He’s a good guy but honestly, their relationship is just awful. Everyone knows, but they can’t stay broken up for more than a day.”

Trott hears Ross’ fingers tap nervously against the metal railing, rapid beat catching and filling Trott’s mind. His fingers feel phantom metal strings and he wonders when the last time he’s picked up his guitar was. He can practically hear the twang and reverberations now; and he thinks, a little too hard, about how much he’d like Ross to hear it too.

“I had a shitty day,” Trott says.

Ross straightens with a jerk. “Sorry, I’ve been totally selfish, haven’t I? Blathering on about my problems -- sorry, um, do you want me to go?”

“No!” Trott says, quickly. “No,” he repeats. “Just, um, just. I could use the company.”

Ross smiles at him, a sweet smile, and leans his arms back onto the railing. “Mmkay, mate,” he says quietly, and bumps Trott’s shoulder lightly with his own.

Trott smiles back at him, the expression feeling shy. “Thanks.”

They stand there in silence until the attendant ushers them away, telling them the rooftop is closed for the evening.

Trott wants to follow Ross, to try and stop this night from ending, but the longing he feels for the guitar abandoned in the corner of his flat overwhelms him. He says goodbye and leaves before regret can set in.


	5. Ross

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> FYI, [this](http://blindsterrefreshments.com/blog/wp-content/uploads/2015/03/HDC2.jpg) is the kind of “coffee vending machine” I’m thinking of.

Ross is visiting a friend in the music building, and he does a double-take as he passes by one of the practice rooms.

He peeks through the small window in the door, and yes, that _is_ Trott with an electric guitar in his lap.

He fights with himself - should he knock? Wouldn’t that be rude? And besides, Trott is wearing headphones, probably to hear the guitar, and he probably wouldn’t even hear Ross knocking, which would just lead to a disappointing moment.

So Ross paces away from the door before Trott catches sight of him awkwardly hovering outside.

What should he do? He wants to see Trott, he can’t deny that, but he has no idea how long he’ll be here, or whether he even wants to see Ross, because let’s be honest, Ross is probably a bit of a pain with the way he hangs on Trott every time he sees him…

Ross clenches his hands into fists and remembers, suddenly, the coffee vending machine down the hallway.

 _That’s_ what he’ll do, he’ll go get a coffee and then when Trott comes by he’ll get Trott one to repay for the one Trott bought. Perfect!

So he rushes down the hall, digging through his pocket for change.

He sits at the table nearby with his coffee, sipping nervously at the overly-sweet liquid, nervousness in his gut. What if Trott decided to leave the other way, and he’s actually already gone? Unable to bear it, Ross leaps to his feet and hurried down the hall, peeking into the room Trott was in.

He’s still there, eyes shut now as his fingers dance across the chords and Ross can’t help but admire the fluid movement of his fingers, the bones of his wrists stark against the black of the guitar.

Ross loses track of himself, standing and watching the movement of Trott, and he’s startled when his hands stop moving. And then he sees Trott staring at him, wide-eyed and red-cheeked, and Ross blushes in response.

_Shit._

Trott waves tentatively, the movement stilted with awkwardness. Ross smiles, and holds up his coffee, pointing at it.

Trott stands, leaning his guitar against the empty music stand, and walks over to the door. Ross tries to compose himself before he opens it, but doesn’t quite manage to.

Still, he’s very glad to see Trott.

“Hey,” Trott says.

“Hey,” Ross says.

“Um, was just practicing. I haven’t in a while, and, well…” Trott trails off, hand twisting the doorknob in an expression of nervous energy.

Ross dumbly holds up his cup. “D’you want, um, coffee? They’ve got the machine down the hall.”

“There’s no food or drinks in the practice rooms,” Trott says, and Ross feels like cursing himself out. Of course not.

But Trott smiles shyly, then, and says, “I was just finishing up anyway. Let me pack up my guitar and I’ll be down in a minute, okay?”

Ross grins, too brightly for the circumstances, but can’t help but feel triumphant. “Yeah, ‘course. See you in a minute.”

“See you,” Trott says.

They stare at each other for a moment more, hesitant to leave, but Ross manages to dart down the hallway finally, seating himself at one of the tables, his foot dancing with nervous energy. Success. More or less.


	6. Trott

Trott freezes once Ross has left, one hand resting on the doorknob. Ross is waiting for him. God, what are they going to talk about? Trott’s free hand clenches in a fist, nails digging into his palm.

Who cares? He’ll get to talk. And Ross seems as as happy to see him as Trott is to see Ross.

So what’s the downside?

He pushes the door shut slowly, turning around to face the little setup he has. Nothing much, just his guitar and the portable sound system. He’s overwhelmed suddenly with a niggling fear, just anxiety. He packs his things away quickly, tucking them into his backpack. He slings the guitar case around his shoulder and nearly flattens a classmate as he tries to leave the room.

“Sorry!” he calls out as he rushes away. Too worried to stop.

But he really shouldn’t’ve been: there, in the little sitting room at the end of the hall, sits Ross, foot bouncing nervously up and down, and an extra coffee set in front of him. The smile that crosses Trott’s face feels silly, and he tries to swallow it down before he speaks.

“Hey, Ross,” he says, and Ross’ head darts up to meet his eyes.

“Hey! I got you a coffee,” Ross says. “How’s it going?” he asks, before Trott has managed to sit. Trott feels his lips twitch as he feels odd giddiness build up in his throat.

“It’s going good,” Trott says. “Just, um, yeah. Haven’t played in a while. Do you? Um, play?”

Ross shrugs sharply, “Just a little piano. Nothing much. Wish I could hear - I mean,” -- pink colors his cheeks -- “do you play any acoustic, or just electric?”

Trott’s eyes drop to the table, and he wraps his hand around the coffee, taking a sip. He’ s way too excitable around Ross, has to measure his breathing. “I play a little acoustic, but I prefer electric. I mean, I don’t have an acoustic guitar right now. But the um, the practice rooms are soundproofed anyway.”

Ross bites his lip. “Yeah, I mean, figures. Don’t suppose you’ve recorded anything?”

Trott shakes his head, heat in his cheeks. Hearing Ross listen to his shit playing? He couldn’t imagine.

“We should do something sometime, though. I’ve got some sound editing software, and, yeah, just if you’re interested.”

Trott can’t imagine having playing while Ross is listening. But… “What software?”

“I’ve got adobe, and, yeah, just some mics and headphones. Just standard, really,” Ross says, taking a swig of his coffee.

“I’d, um, I’d like to see it?” Trott says, hesitance in his voice all too obvious to him.

But Ross’ head darts up in response, and he blurts out, “Are you busy?”

Trott feels like laughing, but he just swallows his giddiness and says, “I’m free.”

“D’you want to … d’you want to come over?”

Trott swallows, gripping the coffee cup to ground himself. “Yeah.”


	7. Ross

Ross’ flat is quiet, which probably means that his roommate is out with his girlfriend (again). Whatever the reason, Ross is grateful, because that means less time trying to explain himself and more time spent with Trott, who trails into the apartment after him like a lost pup.

“Home, sweet home,” Ross says, somewhat self-conscious of the mess on the floor of the common room. But Trott’s face doesn’t show judgement; his eyes sweep across the room, little smile secreted away by the angle of his face.

“It’s nice,” Trott says.

“Don’t lie,” Ross says, “it’s a mess. Sorry. D’you want tea? ...coffee?”

“I’ll take some coffee,” Trott says, and Ross wonders whether Trott’s blood is fully caffeinated now, or if he’s just not sure what else to ask for. But regardless, Ross wanders away to the kitchenette, putting on the kettle and unearthing some (probably slightly stale) packets of coffee.

The movements are instinctive; therapeutic in their simplicity. He takes two mismatched mugs from the high cupboard, taking a covert peek inside to check they are clean, and he pours the coffee mix in each.

When the water is rumbling in the kettle he flicks the switch off, and pouring equal amounts into each cup. The water absorbs the powder fast, dyed deep brown and fizzing just a little on the surface. Ross grabs a clean spoon from the drawer, swirling it through each cup for just a moment.

“Cream? Sugar?” he calls over his shoulder.

Trott’s voice is quiet, and closer than he expected. “No, thanks.”

Ross pours cream into his own mug quickly, forgoing sugar for simplicity, and grabs each cup by the handle. He turns to see Trott watching him; self-conscious, he has the intense desire to run a hand through his hair. But he’s got a steaming mug in each hand, so he settles for chewing his lip.

Trott’s eyes contain something he wouldn’t dare call fondness as he reaches out to accept the cup. Trott takes a sip, and his lip twists in a way Ross can’t quite read.

“Wanna sit?” Ross asks. His hand free, he finds it running through his hair before he’s aware it moved. Trott shrugs, a small, jittery gesture, and Ross says, “The couch is … mostly clean.”

Trott smiles at that, and says, “Love to.”

So Ross leads the way, settling into the worn fabric carefully, so as not to upset his drink. Trott sinks down beside him, a little closer than Ross would’ve sat to most, and yet too far for his liking.

He takes a sip and smiles at Trott, nervous again in the quiet. Trott takes a sip and looks down at his feet. Ross watches him swallow, a deliberate movement, and then Trott shuffles one of his feet against the carpet.

“What’s wrong?” Ross asks, worried despite himself.

Trott tilts his head back up and makes a little self-conscious face. “I hate instant,” he confesses.

Ross isn’t sure if he feels like laughing or crying. “Then don’t fucking drink it, you pillock!”

Trott grins, sheepishly now, and says, “If you made it, I’m willing to suffer through it. Don’t want to put your work to waste.”

Ross feels his heart leap in his chest, and, feeling daring, says: “My work hasn’t gone to waste as long as you’re here. With me.”

Trott’s face flushes, and he looks down at his drink. “I’m, um,” he says, “I’m glad to be here.”

Ross’ hand drifts slowly across the couch and clasps Trott’s. The other man’s hand is cold, and a little clammy, and when his fingers move to twine with Ross’, Ross thinks he’s never felt his heart beat so fast.

Ross whispers: “Stay a while.”

And Trott whispers: “I will.”


End file.
